


The Kid

by WhumpTown



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Mandalorian Being a Dad, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:40:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21856981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhumpTown/pseuds/WhumpTown
Summary: Mandalorian Whump
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 549





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Got into this fandom and immediately had to do it to 'em  
> and to "'em" I mean Mando and by "it" I mean whump

The kid watches his every move. 

Mando can feel those big eyes boring into his back as he shifts painfully in his chair. He’d told the kid to sleep some hours ago, ignoring his own bodies mighty protest that he should do the same. With at least two fractured ribs, a dislocated shoulder (which he popped back into the socket but he knew better than to believe he’d done it correctly), and a concussion still making his vision blur painfully sleeping is the only way he’s going to heal. Sitting his chair with his helmet on certainly isn’t healing. 

“What,” he grounds out, his tone sharper than he intends. Speaking sends shards of glass across his brain, starting just behind his eyelids. He doesn’t see the sharp recoil of the kid, both of them pushing away from the other. Mando’s eyes pinch shut and he knows that if he doesn’t get the helmet off soon he’s either going to throw up in it or pass out in it. Neither of which speak any good measures for his health. 

The kid lets out an objecting noise to the loud sound Mando makes as he forces himself to his feet. He pays the kid little mind as he stumbles away from the flight gear, his hands on both sides of his helmet. His feet hardly come off the ground, his body nearly too weak to carry him. The rules are playing over in his mind. Each sharp stab of his brain another pang of guilt in his chest. He can’t take the helmet off. He can’t-

He vomits. The helmet’s edge catches his nose as he throws it away from his face. His own puke burning his nose and mixing with the blood now pouring from the wound his carelessness caused. Nothing comes up. Just stomach acid and the putrid smell of sickness. His chest heaves, his stomach trying to force something up. His arms shake underneath his weight.

The kid’s little feet patter as he runs to catch up with where Mando had run off to. Soft, scared little noises coming out of his mouth. The kid looks between Mando’s face and the small puddle of sick on the floor. He makes a sad sound, his hand touching Mando’s cheek. The touch startles him, creating the image of something far worse in place of the small green baby Mando has taken in. They stare at each other for a long moment. Unsure and uneasy with the day’s progressions.

The kid was mad as hell that morning when Mando explained slowly that he would be leaving him in the ship. Little green rage monster, Mando had called him under his breath. He had a bounty to catch and the last thing he needed was the kid to act like a spoiled brat. He didn’t see the big deal anyway, he’d be gone an hour, two tops. 

He let the kid have the little metal ball thing, obviously, he should have been fine.

“Hey, little one.” Mando slides back against the wall, letting his sweat-soaked hair meet the cool metal of the ship. The kid coos nonsense and Mando allows himself to find comfort in the familiarity of that. Smiling, his eyes closed and body finally relaxing as the kid crawls on to his chest. His ribs burn with each breath and shift the kid makes but his head no longer pounds relentlessly. 

The kid touches his cheek again, his little hand cool to Mando’s hot skin. He can’t keep fighting the sleep pulling him relentless down. His head lulls limply to the side, the noise the kid makes awakening a small part of worry in Mando’s chest. He fights to bring a hand up to the kid’s back. Trying to reassure the kid that everything is okay. 

The black fog around his vision creeps in closer and Mando falls under its hold, unaware of the worried cries of his kid.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, I added Baby Yoda's lesbian aunt Cara...

There’s a cool breeze across his face. 

A loud, unhappy screech makes his head pound. He struggles to sit up, to get to his helmet and away from whatever wet substance is being pressed into his side. It stings and the movement sends his head spinning and he can distantly feel his body tilting limply to the side. 

He sees the kid. His head having rolled on its own volition to the side. Sluggishly, his mind puts together that the kid made that God-awful sound and that the cool substance against his side is the kid’s tears. “Hey, swamp rat.” 

Despite the raw, rasp of his voice he gets a soft coo, three fingers pinching at the air. It takes a moment, his brain feels like its a frying egg, but he reaches down. His muscles are stiff, aching but he offers his kid his hand. Which he knows isn’t what the swamp rat wants but the kid takes his finger with a small frown none-the-less.

He just can’t hold the kid right now. “When was the last time you ate?” The unsettled weight across his chest is crushing. Each breath a little harder to draw in, tighter. The kid hasn’t eaten though. Bone broth… that was…

The kid wines and Mando hadn’t even realized he’d moved. He’s flat on his back, raspy wheezing leaving his mouth. “K-Kid?” Three little fingers touch his bare face, those soft little cries don’t stop. Mando’s back arches off the floor, suddenly not able to draw in any air. He scrambles to move, uncoordinated hands reaching out as he struggles to breathe.

He’s suddenly too hot, unable to think past the weight on his chest. Unconsciousness takes its hold and the last thing Mando sees is the kid sobbing. He’s right beside him, close enough to reach out and comfort. Mando closes his eyes and hears no more.

\----------

“Rest, Mando.” Cara. She stands over him, the hiss of bacta spray familiar and the cool sting as it hits his skin calming. The weight on his chest is easing, slowing becoming less of a struggle for each breath. His surroundings sink into focus. He turns his head and he smiles as he realizes the helmet is on. He can’t remember putting it back on. So who-

He pushes himself up, knocking the wind from his lungs and allowing the black to creep into his vision. Cara’s hand hits his chest, not too gently, and pushes him onto his back. He panics and while his limbs flail to find purchase, Cara easily pins him to the cot. “Hey!” 

Mando keeps fighting. He can’t think straight but that doesn’t matter. Where’s the kid? “Where’s the-”

“HEy!” Cara comes into focus, her face right at the helmet. “The kid’s safe. Now hold still or you won’t be. Understood?” The fact that her statement is both a threat to hurt him more and a true because if she doesn’t help him now he’s going to die is… it’s true Mando style. Which is sad, regardless. “Okay.”  
Cara sighs and eases off of him. Each limb released with a moment’s hesitation. Mando’s sick and fighting an infection that needed healing days ago, he’s not there. She can tell. She’d taken one of Mando’s punches before, it was enough to knock her off her feet if he carried it through. Just now, Mando couldn’t even find her body to hit. He was swinging blindly.

“Hey, kid.” She can’t be certain but it sounds like Mando’s asleep. Each of his inhales sounds raspy like the next won’t come. That’s not her biggest problem right now, the kid is. The kid currently at her feet, head tilted to the side and observing. “He’s okay.” She just hopes his mind games don’t let him know she might be lying. Cause she has no idea if Mando’s okay or not.

It coos. She’ll take that as a no then. To her amazement, he reaches up and makes a grabbing motion. It’s enough for her to understand he wants her to hold him. Mercifully, he actually just wants Mando.

“Careful-” the kid fumbles to get to where he wants but he settles. Mando lets out an awful sound, twisted torture in his chest. No worse than the sounds he was making when she found them. They should have left two days previous and when she saw the ship stalling over the sand she knew something was wrong. 

Once she got on the ship, she found the two of them. Mando’s helmet was gone but all she saw was a head full of dark curls. As much as she wanted to finally put a face to her friend, she respected him more. So she located the helmet and slid it into place.

He was on his back, a death-like rasp escaping his mouth. The kid was hiccuping, the poor thing looked distraught, and when she moved him from Mando’s side she could see he had tried to heal Mando like he had Greef Kargo in the desert. She could not see how much he had managed, just Mando’s dark blood all over his kid’s fingers, and the big wet tears pouring from the kid’s eyes. 

Cara smiles, now, as she watches the kid coo softly at Mando. Those three grabby little fingers touching the helmet and another exciting coo. Her old friend lived a dangerous life, one she thought might end before her own. The two of them on a fast track to nowhere. To see him now, with a green little swamp rat glued to his side… she couldn’t be happier for him.

The kid nestles into Mando’s side, cooing again when Mando mumbles something incoherently. Mando moves, of his own volition and pulls the little swamp rat closer. The kid smiles and closes his eyes.

She moves away from the cot, cutting off lights and putting away soiled bandages. Taking out a blaster she sits down beside the cot. For now, the swamp rat and Mando will rest. In the morning, she’ll clean his wounds, feed the kid, and check on Mando. But for now, they’ll rest and as long as they need her she’ll be right here.

Taking first watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking about maybe one more chapter. This time with a more living Mando to thank Cara and limp/crutch his way around the ship while denying his emotions and injuries


	3. Chapter 3

“I’m going to throw up.”

To think that all of Cara’s training, all of the life-threatening dumb things she has done has lead her to this moment is… dull. It takes her a split second to know what he really means. “Covered!” She turns around, allowing Mando the disclosure he seeks. Despite the warning, she still grimaces at the sound of the vomit hitting the bucket. Christ, why couldn’t he have been a droid under that helmet like she expected him to be? Droids don’t throw up and they also don’t bleed all over the place.

When she turns back around he’s still half hanging off the cot. His fever is making him delirious. Which spells nothing but trouble. “We need to figure out how to get the helmet off,” Cara’s feels a soft coil of fear in her chest at how weakly Mando’s refusal comes. What should have allotted a deep, frustrated ‘no’ earns her a feeble grunt. “You have to cool down, Dyn!” She stands up and takes the sick bucket with her. She suddenly decides she knows what needs to be done. “We’re going back.”

He sits up, a roar of pain strangled from his lips. He nearly topples over, only Cara’s quick reflexes stopping him from falling off the cot. “No,” his voice is softer than a whisper, a breathy declaration missing all strength and conviction. She rights him back on the cot and eases him back down. She looks away from him when she offers,” if you can get off that cot and stop me…” She moves to the ladder, towards the pilot chair. “Then we won’t go.” 

\---------

“What happened?”

“Was all of that blood?”

Cara almost immediately regrets her decision to fly them back to Omera and her little village. She still needs their help because they’re a half-dressed Mandalorian in the bathroom… an unconscious Mandalorian. She tries to pull on a nice facade, mostly for womp-rat and whatever Omera’s kid’s name is. It doesn’t work. “Everything is going to be fine once I kick Mando’s ass for-”

Omera clears her throat and Cara tries not to let both sets of aggravatingly adorable brown eyes watching her annoy her further. Luckily for Mando bleeding out in the bathroom and Cara’s quickly approaching mental deterioration, Omera is much more level headed. Calm. “One of us has to go in.” Omera looks down at the children, trying to figure out the best way to do this. “We can wear blindfolds.”

Cara nods but she hates him. She well and truly does at this point. What had she said before she sent him in there? _“Be careful because I don’t want to see you naked.”_ Which is, sure not the most sensitive or emotional thing to say to someone who you don’t want to die. Still, he probably could have tried harder and knowing him she’s right.

Omera searches for their ‘blindfolds’ and finds sections of cloth Cara was ripping for rags earlier. The material is thick and should do the job. “Wait,” Omera turns back to the cloth pile and searching through it a little feverishly. She finds what she’s looking for and holds it up,” if one of us can just go in and get this over his face, we can get him out.”

Cara nods,” are you-” She really hopes Omera is offering because if Mando is naked… The _last_ thing she wants to see is his dick. 

Omera offers a short nod. What a relief. Cara ties the blindfold, mostly for the sake of haste but also because she, deep down, doesn’t want Omera to see Mando’s face. She doesn’t want to ruin his life because he’s… important to her. “Hey-” the words die on her lips but Omera’s simple nod conveys it all. Neither of them want to him to die but they both respect him enough to not look. Cara feels an immense relief come off of her shoulders. 

“W-What do you see?”

There’s silence from the other side of the door before a slow, steady. “Nothing, Cara. Is that not the point?” But any tense, sharpness of the retort is let go. Their nerves are on high alert plus Cara can admit to that being a dumb question. “Found him!” Things suddenly come to life.

Omera is forced to fight blindfolded as Din throws his arms out. Luckily, her opponent is severely incapacitated. “ ‘mera?” Mando’s hand suddenly releases her and she trembles where she stands. Hands that previously punched and slapped blindly now tremble as they touch hers. “I-I can’t tell if you’re real.” She can feel the fever of his skin and wonders if she could see his eyes if they’d gleam with fever too.

“I’m real,” she guides his hand along her arm until his fingers can dance along her pulse point. He makes a small noise. “Oof,” the air is knocked from her lungs as he sags boneless against her. Hair. She feels thick, albeit sweaty, hair. She imagines all the colors it could be. Brown, like her own, perhaps. She always pictured him with brown hair. “Din? Din?”

Great. Her fingers run up his body, her mind trying it’s best not to dwell for too long on certain parts. The nice outline of a jaw, stubble that pricks her fingers, and lips… She covers his face with the cloth and she still finds herself disappointed to find it obscuring any view of his face she may have gotten. Her hands still tremble when she pulls the fabric away from her eyes. “He-He’s… You can come in!” The cloth isn’t perfect, tighter than the helmet, but they can’t see him. Just the outline of the things.

“Stupid bastard,” Cara mumbles but her tone is too soft to mean it too much. Omera feels Cara guide herself into the room, her hands on Omera’s hips as she steps over and around Din’s limp form. “You got his shoulders and I’ll get his feet?”

Omera nods, eyes glued to his sweaty chest. A well defined, scarred chest. “Yeah.” He’s heavier than she thought, even without the baskar weighing his body down. They move quickly and as Omera struggles to open the door, it’s opened from the outside. 

Winta stands, frozen as her eyes dart between Din’s limp form and her mother. “Mama?” Winta shakes, fear written in the curious wrinkles at the sides of her eyes. “Mama is he-” Winta stumbles away from them, as they step out all the way. Din’s entire body visible. “I thought… I didn’t think he was human.”

Omera glances at Cara who shrugs in a way that makes it very clear that Winta was not alone in that assumption. “Step back,” Omera says instead, her arms are trembling under the weight of his weight. Carrying kril and children not enough to prepare her for the weight of a fully grown man, limp in her arms. 

Din whimpers something, turning his head and brushing the fabric over his face against Omera’s arm. He jerks just enough in Cara’s hold that mumbles a curse, “just put him down.” They’re just outside the bathroom. “I’ll grab a cot and his helmet.”

Winta stares at them. Eyes large with fear she looks to her mother, mouth open but unresponsive. 

“Go,” Omera instructs her, nodding to the baby watching just as intently. “Play, distract him.” She guides Din’s head to her lap trying to soothe him as much as she can. Winta hesitates, not wanting to leave her mother and really not wanting to leave The Mandalorian but… 

“Come on,” she takes the baby’s hand, lifting him when he doesn’t move. He’s in just as much shock as they are and allows Winta to take him outside. Away from his Mandalorian. 

Din shakes his head, mumbling intangibly to himself. 

“Shh,” Omera cradles his head in her elbow, glancing over her shoulder for Cara. “You’re okay.” Her eyes slide down his chest once again, settling on the ugly purple bruises danced up his ribs. 

His shoulders jerk and she can feel his body tense. He throws himself up, arms trembling as he rolls to the side, one arm holding him up as the other pulls the fabric from his face. Omera looks away quickly, his brown hair blurring as she jerks her head away. He vomits and she keeps her head turned away. 

He lets out a choked breath, muscles screaming. “Omera?” His arm gives out underneath him and he falls on his back, muscles cramping painfully. “ ‘s okay,” he whispers to the ceiling of his ship, vision blurring. A hand slips into his, black creeping back into his vision. “It’s-” his chest cramps painfully.

Omera turns her head, instincts kicking in. “Din!” She’s looking at his face, eyes closed and body limp. She’s not taking it in, her eyes scanning up and down his body until- “Cara! He’s not breathing!”

**Author's Note:**

> There might be a second chapter... maybe  
> You know, with like some baby yoda just trying to take care of his dad


End file.
